


Ticklish

by pettifogger



Series: Vienna's Mando Oneshots [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Din Djarin is ticklish, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff, Pranks and Practical Jokes, Reader and Grogu are partners in crime, Tickling, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-09
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-16 09:55:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29948235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pettifogger/pseuds/pettifogger
Summary: Din Djarin is ticklish but he doesn’t want to admit it. Too bad you’re not going to let it go.(very short, pretty corny fluff drabble inspired bya poston tumblr bypedrocentric)
Relationships: Din Djarin/Reader, Din Djarin/You, The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)/Reader
Series: Vienna's Mando Oneshots [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2202585
Comments: 5
Kudos: 39





	Ticklish

Din Djarin is ticklish.

You didn’t mean to discover that about him. All you did was slip your hands under his shirt one day when his armor was off and he shivered like he’d been shocked by a Jawa stun gun. 

You pressed your face to his chest and ran your hands up and down his sides. “Are my hands that cold?” 

Granted, it _is_ cold on the _Crest_ when she’s in space, but you didn’t think your hands were _that_ cold. 

He shook his head and you snuck your hands all the way around his waist to hug him close. If you could see under the helmet, you would’ve seen him concentrating _very_ hard on not shivering again when you started to trace aimless lines down his spine with your fingertips. 

You notice it again, days later, in the dark of the hold. It’s pitch-black and his helmet is somewhere off to the side, his armor on the ground. You’re resting along his side on your bedroll. It’s cold—again—and you dragged him here under the guide of conserving body heat, but you both know it’s just an excuse to be close to each other. 

He’s warm and broad underneath you with a strong arm wrapped around your waist. You can’t help the draw you feel towards him; it’s irresistible. You wriggle even closer to him, nestling your face in the crook of his neck, and let out a contented sigh.

He shivers again, a full-body movement that catches your attention.

You push yourself up with one arm. “Are you okay?”

He huffs, embarrassed, and tries to ignore you. You just shift closer and blow cool air on his neck, just below his ear. His curls flutter against his skin and he twitches under you again.

“I knew it,” you crow, triumphant. “You’re ticklish.”

“No,” he grunts. It would be a convincing denial, did he not grab your hand as he felt you try and reach for the exposed skin of his hip where his shirt rides up. He holds your hand in an iron grip, keeping you from moving it closer to him, but you’re far from scared. In fact, you’re amused. This is hilarious. 

“Admit it,” you tease. “You’re ticklish. The Mandalorian is ticklish.”

“I am not,” he growls, sounding way too pouty for an adult man, “ _ticklish_.”

“Sure.” You stop pushing on his hand and he finally lets you go, allowing you to settle back down along his side. “I believe you.”

You don’t. 

Now it’s a game. Now that you know that the slightest brush of your fingertips on his bare skin or cold air fluttering his hair makes him shiver, you have the high ground. You don’t do it in public, of course—you wouldn’t risk his big, bad reputation for your own amusement—but you sure do it a lot in private. He’s learned to stay far away from you when you get a mischievous glint in your eye and start wiggling your fingers at him. Normally he’d say he loves it when you touch hi, but not like this. 

You finally get the best of him one night when the three of you—you, Din, and the child—are hanging out in the cockpit, watching stars fly past in the viewport. Din is staring off into space, or that’s what you think; he might also be asleep under the helmet. Who knows. 

You sneak up behind his chair, shooting a knowing at the kid in the co-pilot’s seat. The little womp rat knows you’re up to mischief and he’s completely on board. Slowly, _very_ slowly, you creep over to the captain’s seat.

“What are you... _hey!”_ Din cuts himself off with a shout when you pounce, tickling his sides over his flight suit. Behind you, the kid burbles with glee and claps his little three-fingered hands. Din spins his chair around and manhandles you into his lap, pinning your arms to your sides and keeping you firmly in his grip. If you were literally anyone else, you’d be scared by the glare he’s giving you through the black slit of his visor. But he’s Din, and you’re you, and the kid is still cackling in his high-pitched little voice, and everything about this is funny. 

“Let me _go_.” You try to wriggle out of his hold, but his grip is too strong. 

He doesn’t. “Only if you stop that,” he says, nodding at your hands. 

“Stop what?”

“Doing...that.” 

“Tickling you?”

Din grunts. 

“You want me to stop tickling you?” You can’t help the smile that spreads across your face. “That’s practically an admission. You’re ticklish. I knew it.”

“I’m not,” he grits out. 

“Fine,” you huff. “Then prove it.”

“What?”

You look back at the kid, who’s still smiling. “What do you think, bright eyes? Is your dad ticklish? I think he is. I think he’s lying.”

“I am not _lying_.”

Stars, he sounds cute when he’s annoyed. He’s glaring at you through the black slit of his visor. You glare right back, scrunching up your nose. 

“Then prove it.” 

“Fine.” He lets go of your wrists and you turn to face him properly. He doesn’t have much skin exposed at the moment, just a sliver of olive skin where his gloves meet his sleeves. You start to reach for the hem of his shirt when he throws his hands up in front of him.

“Wait, no. Changed my mind,” he says, sound stern. “No.” 

You arch your eyebrows and look back at the kid, your expression saying _are you seeing this?_ The kid just laughs and claps his hands together again. You grin and move fast, trying to sneak your hands under Din’s arms, but he blocks you again.

“No,” he says, sounding entirely too scared for a man who kills for a living. 

Time to change tactics. You shift in his lap, a dirty trick that makes him flex his thighs under you to balance your weight, letting him feel how soft and warm you are on top of him. His guard drops just a bit, just like you knew it would, and you get your opening. Your hands fly to his sides and ruck up his shirt to tickle the bare skin over his ribs. 

His loud “NO” quickly turns into a much soft “ _no_ ” as he laughs, rattling through the modulator. Your gleeful cackle mixed with the sound of the kid burbling with joy, filling the cockpit with noise. You don’t let up until you’re all breathless with laughter and Din has your arms pinned to your sides. The kid keeps laughing and you just _know_ he’s going to take advantage of this revelation too.

Din Djarin is ticklish, and you’re not going to forget that any time soon.

**Author's Note:**

> find me on [tumblr](https://letterfromvienna.tumblr.com/) xoxo


End file.
